Your average fruit fly will die of natural causes after only a month or two of life. Is this soon enough? Absolutely not!
They’re pesky little things, flitting around by your fruit bowl – or your kitchen windowsill of Bramleys, in my case – and while I can’t actually see what they’re doing, I’m sure it can’t be good.
Not being fond of spraying my food with insecticidal chemicals, I determined to take a less toxickly stinky method to wreak my devastation. (I may be a writer by profession, but I moonlight as the Death of Small Parasitic Insects.)
One of the benefits of a semi-nomadic childhood is a great deal of expertise in packing. Unlike my time-management, which tends to be illustrative of Parkinson’s Law, my packing is extremely effective.
Strolling through the file system this morning, I discovered a photo I’ve never shared with you: the cake I made for the Restoration Day release party.
It was the first time I made an icing other than the plainest of plain (water + icing sugar and a tiny bit of butter). Memory is hazy at this distance, but it might have been buttercream icing. With, as you can see in the photo, the viscera of at least one lemon.
It was delicious. Less delicious was the other photo I happened across: a dead mouse floating in the cats’ water bowl. (Always feed your cat on time.)